Breaking Storm
by Brochelle
Summary: So that fight didn't go as well as he hoped. Had it only been a day? Rochelle/Nick.


"Remember that time I told you to go to hell?"

Somewhere, thunder rumbled. The sky was a warm, purple color; the storm clouds were ablaze from the city's scattered fires and faded street lamps. The first few droplets of rain tapped on the rooftops high above, and he could feel it in his hair and on his hands and trickling down the back of his neck. For the first time in a long time, it was quiet - aside from the first symptoms of a summer storm - but it wasn't as relaxing as he'd thought it would be. A cold wind bit at his soaked skin, and Nick curled in on himself, pulling the corpse closer to his chest and clutching at its sleeves. He squeezed his eyes shut and took a shuddering breath.

"I didn't really mean it. Ah, it was. Uh."

He swallowed the lump in his throat. It was him being stupid. He knew the biker - knew who he stood for, knew who he was affiliated with - and he had every right to be pissed off at the big ape, regardless of how everyone else felt for him. It was his goddamn right, after what that guy's gang had put him - and his ex-wife - through. So why did he feel guilty about it now? Why now, sitting alone in a dark alley with a corpse in his arms?

"I know. His. Kind," Nick spat out. "Thinks he can have any woman he wants."

Nick stared at the corpse's dark skin, running his thumbs over the cuts that marred its arm, and watched as the fat drops of rain washed away the slick blood.

"Thinks he can do anything he goddamn pleases. He's a fucking dog, for Pete's sake, I don't know why you'd-"

Thunder rumbled, cutting him off. The storm was directly above him now, and as the thunder faded into the suddenly chill air, the rain began to pour, until he couldn't see five feet in front of him. Nick closed his eyes and rested his head back against the wall, tilting his chin upward to let the rain wash away the dirt and grime on his face. He sat like that for a while, letting the storm bathe him in warm, pounding rain, before the onslaught began to let up and the downpour ceased, lessening to a steady drizzle. With a sigh, Nick opened his eyes and stared down at the bright, still form laying in his arms.

He bit his lip.

"I just don't get why you'd have a thing for that douche," he said quietly.

About an hour ago, he'd heard a Witch's shriek, followed by a scream of terror and a quick burst of gunfire. The Witch cried out and there was the sound of knives slicing into stone. Then there was a few minutes of agonizing silence, finally replaced with the first few claps of thunder that began the storm. That'd been an hour ago, and he hadn't heard anything more - not even the occasional howl. Even the crying had eventually disappeared, swallowed up by the approaching storm and the city of Rayford itself.

That must have been it for the mechanic guy.

Nick had assumed Coach would go help Ellis, but he hadn't heard from the big guy since he went thundering down the cobblestone street, following the boy's scream. Maybe the Witch had got him too.

It stopped mattering about an hour ago.

Nick had considered going to help, but he had other things to attend to. The defibrillator wasn't working, and no matter how many times he tried, Rochelle wouldn't get up. She was soaked in her own blood, one of her eyes was swollen shut, and somehow her arm was twisted in a very, very wrong way, but the defibrillator just wouldn't bring her back. She wouldn't wake up - not an hour ago, and not fifteen minutes ago - and there was nothing Nick could do but wait now. And talk. Let some old demons go while he was still around to speak.

He gave a chuckle, letting the softest of smiles curve the corners of his lips.

"Imagine the biker's face when I show up without you, or anyone else. He won't know what to do."

Nick allowed the thought to roll around in his mind for a second longer before deciding it wasn't that funny.

"He had a thing for you, and you had a thing for him," he mumbled.

Nick carefully set down the corpse, letting it rest beside him against the wall. He stared at her one, blank eye for a moment longer before he was biting his lip and staring intently at the brick wall opposite him, trying to focus on something else. Bringing his legs up to his chest, crossed his arms over his knees, resting his chin on his wrist. He concentrated on breathing normally.

"That's kind of funny."

The corpse didn't say anything. It was still, soaked in its own blood and rain.

He wasn't going to get very far into the city if there was no one else. He couldn't even see the bridge anymore, and the storm was getting worse as the night went on. And even if he managed to reach the bridge, how would he get to New Orleans?

Nick reached down and patted the ground, feeling the stone until his fingers touched flesh. He grasped Rochelle's corpse's hand and stroked the palm, squeezing his eyes shut against the rain and… something else.

His hold on Rochelle's hand tightened, until he feared he'd break bone.

Thunder rumbled again - this time farther away - and rain began pouring down, washing over the two in the alley.

Nick tilted his chin toward the sky and let the rain wash away his tears.

* * *

**A-N: Written as quick practice late last night. Cleaned it up a bit today.**


End file.
